Field of Graves (14 page)

Taylor noticed Baldwin’s briefly pained look. Her curiosity piqued; whatever happened to drive him away from Quantico must have been pretty bad. The profilers up there were tough as nails; they saw horrors she could only imagine. What had happened to this man? Was it something to do with the case Marcus had mentioned?

Baldwin tried a smile. “Yeah, I did. Pretty brutal stuff. It’s good to meet you.”

“Maybe we could talk about the case over lunch. I’ll buy.”

Taylor took pity on Baldwin. Marcus may have hated dead bodies, but he was fascinated with sexually motivated killings. Given half the chance, he would forget everything he needed to do and sequester Baldwin in an interview room to talk shop the rest of the day. She jumped in before Marcus could secure his date and start his interrogation.

“One thing at a time, puppy. Let’s give Dr. Baldwin a little space to get started. Baldwin, tell me what you’ll need to do your initial assessment.”

Baldwin squared his shoulders. He didn’t want to be here. Lieutenant Jackson was humoring him, but he had a headache, and he really wanted a beer. Meeting her oddly colored eyes, somewhere deep inside he felt a spark of pride stir. It may goeth before his fall, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her, or the rest of her team.

“I’d like to start with the crime scene photos and the files you’ve compiled on each girl. I need the autopsy reports, and I’d like to speak to your ME a little later on. I assume you’ve run the databases. I’d like those results as well. If I could, I’d like a quiet place where I can look over the files. Alone, preferably. I’ll need some mental space to come to any conclusions.”

Taylor looked surprised but quickly covered it with a cough. If he was going to make an effort, she could try as well.

She gave the necessary directions. Baldwin was escorted to the conference room across the hall from the squad room. Taylor started to follow him in to get him settled, and he stopped her.

“I know you have questions about me, but I promise you, I’m going to stick close to home, read these over, give you an opinion, and be out of your hair. That should satisfy everyone involved, don’t you think?”

Taylor saw nothing but pain in his green eyes, and something told her to keep trying. “How about this, Dr. Baldwin? You go over those files. See if you come up with anything interesting. Then we’ll talk about your imminent dismissal. Okay?” She turned and shut the door behind her before he had a chance to respond.

“Great,” he said to the blue wall. “Just fucking great. Fine, I’ll look. I’ll give them some suggestions, they can go track them down, and I’m out of here.” He sat angrily at the table. He realized it was the first emotion he’d felt in months, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

25

Baldwin ran his fingers through his hair, making the too-long strands spike like porcupine quills. He’d read the files on the dead girls twice, and didn’t remember a word. He stood and wandered around the conference room, looking idly for something to play with. He found only a handful of paper clips and a tape dispenser. They’d cleaned out the cell of the condemned. Back at the table, he half smiled to the wall, picked up a clip and started prying the wire apart. When he finished, he picked up another, then another, until a ramshackle chain-link fence formed itself on the table in front of him.

Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t have any business being here. Garrett and Price knew that, yet they were pushing him to come back to the land of the living, something he wasn’t sure if he was willing to do. Yet here he was, files spread before him, two beautiful girls dead, and he had only the simplest curiosity about how they’d gotten there. In his old life, he would have already taken each word of each file apart, would have a sense of whom they were dealing with. He’d be formulating plans on how to stop the killer from striking again. Now, well...

He struck the table with his fist, scattering the barricade of paper clips all over the table. He impatiently brushed them aside, watching them scatter in random patterns on the floor. He stared, trying to find some clue in the metal outline, but saw nothing. An appropriate reaction for one whose mind was a jumbled blank.

He was out of practice.

With a sigh, he pulled the file of Jordan Blake toward him, and started again.

* * *

The door to the conference room opened, light spilling in from the hall. It was the woman, Jackson, the light haloing around her head. She looked like an avenging angel.

“Mr., ah, Dr. Baldwin? Fitz and I are getting something to eat. Would you like to join us? Samantha Owens, our ME, may come with the results of the tox screens on our two murdered girls. You said you’d like to meet her.”

Baldwin glanced out the window, surprised to realize it was dark out. He’d been cloistered in this room all day with no break. Checking his watch, he saw it was past seven. In response, his stomach growled. He looked at Taylor sheepishly.

“Sorry, time got away from me. Are you sure it’s cool if I join you?”

Taylor smiled. “Everyone has to eat. Besides, you look like you could use a square meal. We’re going to Mulligan’s Pub down on Second. Come on. A walk will do you good.”

Baldwin considered for a moment. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and no place better to be.

“All right. If you’re sure.” He followed her out the door, then stopped and went back into his new office, grabbing the files and shoving them in his tattered leather backpack, shaking his head as he did. The case had its claws in him, and he didn’t want to let it go so quickly. Nor did he want to leave his notes behind.

Taylor watched him closely. He was disheveled, his hair standing on end, unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He almost looked dangerous, and much more engaged than he had earlier. She was surprised to feel a moment of longing in her stomach. There was something about him that intrigued her. She’d spent all afternoon wondering what he was up to.

Stop that
, she snapped to her mind.
You have enough problems of your own without taking on his, too.

26

A traditional Irish green-and-gold sign framed the wooden doorway over Mulligan’s Pub, holding the promise of the real deal. Quartered windowpanes gave it an inviting, homey look. Upon entering the warm, smoky foyer, there was dining to the left and a cozy bar situated straight ahead. A moth-eaten ibex, stuffed and smiling benevolently, presided over the deep walnut bar with a benign billy goat grin.

Celtic music played quietly. The weekends featured excellent live Irish music, boasted a loyal clientele braying drunkenly for their favorites and always finding succor in the generosity of the band. A plaque on the bar wall claimed the pub’s distinction as the first bar in the state of Tennessee to pour a pint of Guinness draught.

Taylor and Baldwin arrived first. They’d walked to the restaurant in silence. She’d been at an unaccustomed loss for words, and the uneasy silence had enveloped them in a fog. After putting their name in for a table, they hit the bar for a beer. Taylor wondered for a moment if it was smart to let him drink, then decided she wasn’t his mother. She didn’t know how to approach the situation, anyway. They ordered, then she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to regroup.

She washed her hands and looked long and hard in the mirror. She wasn’t happy with the face staring back at her. Her hair had come down from its ponytail. She quickly wrestled it back into place. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her face was pale. She looked like hell, but she felt worse. Maybe she
was
coming down with something. Maybe she just needed some sleep. She splashed some water on her face, dried off with a scratchy towel, and forced a smile at the wraith in the mirror. A little better.

Back at the bar, Baldwin had an empty pint glass in front of him, was started in on another.

She sat next to him. “Um, listen, Dr. Baldwin, take it easy, okay? We need to get our ducks in a row. This is a business dinner, and I need you clearheaded.”

Baldwin squinted at her, drained the second pint, turned to the bartender and asked for a double Glenfiddich. Drink in hand, he turned toward her as if about to say something, then bit it off and looked away. He didn’t taste the Scotch.

“Baldwin,” she said, softly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. The lighting in here is nice. I haven’t been here in years.”

Taylor looked around and had to agree. The gas lanterns glowing softly over the brick and walnut were soothing, much more comfortable than the harsh lights they’d worked under all day. She imagined him sitting alone in the dark in an anonymous room and realized he probably hadn’t been socializing very much. But she wasn’t his keeper, and she didn’t want to start anything.

The hostess signaled the table was ready. “Are you coming?” she asked.

“I’ll just...get the tab.”

Taylor sighed and turned away, leaving her errant charge behind with his Scotch. Fitz came in the door, flirted happily with the hostess while they assembled around the table. As Taylor and Fitz sat down, the door opened and Sam breezed through.

Taylor saw her friend come in and gave a jerk of her head toward Baldwin, who still stood at the bar. Sam gazed sharply toward him, spotted Baldwin leaning against the wooden counter and made a beeline for him.

“Hi. Sam Owens. I’m the ME.” She stuck out her hand. Taylor could have sworn she saw Sam’s eyelashes bat. She glowered at her. Sam returned the look with an innocent smile.

“Do you care to join us, or are you going to drown your sorrows at the bar while we watch and make bets on when you’ll fall down?”

Baldwin’s eyes went wide in shock, and he barked out a laugh of surprise.

Taylor stifled a giggle. Baldwin certainly wasn’t aware of Sam’s inability to use the smallest measure of tact.

“Sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing better to do.” He signaled for another whisky, but Sam shook her head at the bartender and said loudly, “Water.”

Taylor watched the exchange with interest. Baldwin was meekly following Sam to the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable and nursing his chilled glass. It looked like Sam may have tamed the beast.

Once settled with drinks and food ordered, Fitz sat back in his chair, rubbing his tummy. A hint of malice gleamed in his crooked smile. “So, Baldwin. You spent all day with the files. Got any answers yet?”

“I’m not really ready to talk about any of this. I mean, I haven’t had enough time to formulate an opinion, and it would be best—”

Taylor cut him off. “Why don’t we share some of our thoughts with Dr. Baldwin first, instead of putting him on the spot right out of the gate.” She stared pointedly at her second. Fitz choked back his smile and assumed a more serious face.

“Oh, of course. Sounds good. Okay, Dr. Baldwin. Here’s what we know. Got us a couple of dead lookers who happen to go to the same school. One’s dumped in the Cumberland, one ceremoniously placed at the Parthenon. Both were raped and scattered with herbs. You following,
Doctor
, or do I need to use smaller words?”

Taylor leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and cleared her throat. “Fitz,” she grumbled, the name coming out as a distinct word of warning, but Baldwin rose to the bait alarmingly fast.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,
Detective
. You really don’t need me for this. I’ll just head on home now. Here you go.” He reached under the table for his backpack and pulled out the files, tossed them on the table. The contents spilled everywhere. Baldwin stalked out the door.

Taylor didn’t try to follow him. She raised a hand to Sam, who was rising from her chair, and shook her head. Sam sat back down, puzzled.

“Why’d you let him run out of here like that?”

“Don’t look at me. Fitz is the one who chased him off.”

“Didn’t take much, did it?”

Sam shook her head. “I can’t believe you two. What is this, some sort of club initiation, and he failed?”

“No,” Taylor said. “Dr. Baldwin has some demons. He’ll have to put them to bed if he wants in on this case. I told the captain I’d play ball but I wasn’t going to babysit. If Baldwin wants to, he’ll be back.”

Sam was still glaring at Taylor.

“All right, all right. Fitz, that wasn’t very nice of you. Behave next time you see him. If we ever see him again. In the meantime, Sam, can I have a bite of your stew?” Taylor had already speared a piece of beef.

“Yes, you can have my dinner. What demons does Baldwin have?”

Fitz eyed Taylor, who nodded imperceptibly. “News reports say the doc got a few of his men killed on an operation up in Virginia. Nasty case, child murderer. They went in with a warrant, and the guy came out shooting. Caught three feebies before Baldwin took him out.”

Sam had stopped eating and glanced sideways at Taylor, who hadn’t moved. “Well, we all know it can happen. If he’s really messed up about it, who are we to judge?
Right
, T?”

Taylor sighed deeply and ignored the jab. “No one’s judging. And that’s not the end of the story. After they cleaned up the mess, another girl was taken and killed. He’d pegged the wrong guy, and they lost three men needlessly. So yeah, I can understand. Probably not enough, though.” She resumed eating Sam’s stew.

They were all quiet while they finished their meals. Fitz gallantly asked for and paid the check. He bid them a good-night and left the two women to their conversation.

Taylor leaned her chair back on two legs and put her arms behind her head. She knew what was coming.

“I expect better of you two. The man was clearly hurting, and you pushed him away. Now what are you going to do?”

“Sam. That man is well beyond any help I could give. And what do you mean, what am
I
going to do? I’m not doing anything. He’s not my responsibility.”

“Not your responsibility? Price asked you to bring him on the team, didn’t he? You’re the team’s leader, aren’t you? You sound pretty responsible to me. And you’ve both been through similar incidents.”

“It’s not the same thing.”